some cupid kills with arrows.
There is no reason for him to leave. Yet he does.
There is no reason for her to stay. Yet she does.
It has always been like that between the two of them. If one walks, the other must remain. It does not matter who leaves, as long as somebody does.
That day, it was Morgana who stayed.
"You don't have to do this," he had said.
"You are worth so much more," he had pleaded.
"Camelot is nothing without you," he had confessed.
She had said nothing; only turned to face him and read the lie in his eyes.
"How can we – " she began. "How can we be kin?"
He knew this battle. Every time they met, it was the same mantra that flew from her lips. There were only so many words in the world, and Morgana had exhausted them all in her search for answers. Merlin had used none to comfort her.
"How can we be of the same blood?" Her voice cracked on the final word, leaving her to draw in a ragged breath.
"Morgana, don't – don't do this to yourself."
To Merlin, she is his sentence; his punishment for never helping her; the noose around his neck that tightens with every minute he is away from her. He cannot help but want to be near her. It is the magic, he tells himself. It is the power she radiates, the influence of the High Priestess that draws him to her. He must tell himself these things to remain sane. He cannot admit the truth to himself, because that would mean admitting defeat.
He has been conquered by Morgana Pendragon, rightful Queen of Camelot.
And so all he can do is give his hollow words and pay her secret visits.
"Why?" The strength of her voice returned. "Why? Why am I here? Tell me. Why am I still here, in this cave, surrounded by trees and hiding from knights? Where is my crown? I should command an army. I should have the power to protect Druids and sorcerers, my own people. Instead, I must seek alliances with the likes of Cenred. Why?"
Stop, he wanted to tell her. Potion bottles rattled on wooden shelves, a strong wind picked up outside and the horse tied outside whinnied furiously. Morgana took no notice. Stop.
"Why does that usurper sit on my throne?" It was the barest of whispers. Merlin almost did not catch it. He almost answered it. To do so would be to betray the King, to change his destiny and perhaps to make wrongs right. He said nothing as he turned around and made his way out.
That is the tragedy of it all, he thinks as Excalibur pierces her and he hears that surprised gasp leave her lips. She found his weakness, he found hers, and neither of them could live like that.